


17th and Front Street

by madamsledge



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Signal Language, Smut, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamsledge/pseuds/madamsledge
Summary: The truth was that Tarhead Johnny didn’t exist. That was just what you said in South Philly when you wanted to “meet fellas”.Or, the first time Babe Heffron gave Bill Guarnere a blow.





	17th and Front Street

**Author's Note:**

> I'll die for this ship

The truth was that Tarhead Johnny didn’t exist. That was just what you said in South Philly when you wanted to “meet fellas”. It was a pretty fool-proof system, too, because either the guy understood you or not, and if he did, you knew something about him and he knew something about you. He could take it or leave it.

When he heard about another South Philly kid running around Aldbourne, Bill didn’t even think about that little codeword. It was a million years ago, a million miles away, and he was different now. Guy was an FNG, and who the fuck calls themselves Babe? It had to be one of those ironic names. This guy had to be two hundred pounds, thick, greasy hair, had a face like a mule, and had to be six foot. Had to be. Babe Heffron, whoever he was, had to look like a grisly old miner.

Bill put it out of mind a while, but when he first laid eyes on a skinny little redhead, he had a gut feeling. The kid was sitting behind him with a bunch of other replacement paratroopers, the kind of guys that got rushed through the training that nearly killed him, and Bill tried not to seem like he was eavesdropping, but he did hear it muttered over and over again–Babe, heifer, Heffy…

So, he had to try. It couldn’t hurt to ask. The guy either understood or he wouldn’t.

“Johnny Waylon? Yeah, old Tarhead, I know him!” Babe looked excited, and Bill knew why. “I was heading back to barracks–”

“Yeah, I’m headed that way, too,” Bill said with a little clear of his throat. He stowed his cigarette in his glass of water and stood. “Luz, Martin, be seeing you around the pub later.”

There were empty barracks, and in the back of those empty barracks was an empty, dusty storeroom, and, five minutes after meeting, Babe Heffron was the prettiest little cocksucker Bill Guarnere had ever seen in his life.

You could believe it was all the guy ever wanted to do if you just looked at him. He’d pulled his tie loose, unbuttoned his collar, gotten himself right and pretty, and now he was on his knees in front of Bill. Back in Philadelphia, Bill didn’t look guys in the eye, but it was impossible to look away from Babe for even a second. 

How fucking long had it been? He had sex with women for the sake of doing it, and he’d almost forgotten that sex didn’t have to be shameful and leave him feeling a horrible, nagging emptiness. The way he looked at Babe gave him a thrill and a chill; the way Babe’s fingers raked down his thigh could have knocked the breath from him. 

Bill was touching him, too, although he didn’t realise it until he felt short, red hair in his grasp. No weight or volume, no pomades, no curls set with heat and irons, just rough-cut with Army clippers, in and out of the chair for the next guy. It was comforting, almost as goddamn exciting as the lips around his dick.

“I want you to come down my throat.”

Bill’s eyes widened. The second he closed them, the kid had said something like that. “If you’re not real fuckin’ careful, you’re gonna wind up killing me.”

Babe shook his head and winked at him, still stroking him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Goddamn it, of course he didn’t get the chance to answer. Babe had waited until the second his lips parted to run his tongue over the head of his cock, and instead of words, Bill uttered a quick string of nonsense syllables and a strangled groan. His head smacked back against the wall, his shoulders jerked, his hand tightened in Babe’s hair again, and Bill was suddenly so anxious that he’d hurt him. He hadn’t even flinched, but still…

“Shit, are you okay?” Bill asked, reaching down for his shoulder, squeezing it. He passed a hand gently over Babe’s hair when those big brown eyes met his again. “Babe? That hurt? I hurt you?”

A pause. Babe made a quiet sound and gently shook his head. 

Bill didn’t have time to contemplate what had gone on between that spark and the dark. What seemed like a game to Babe at first now appeared to be his mission in life–and good God, whoever taught him to suck dick was getting a fruit basket or some flowers or something. Bill’s fingertips grazed along the back of Babe’s neck as he moved, he felt the clean lines of his haircut again, the fluid motion of his head bobbing up and down…

Up…

And down again…

Bill’s head hit the wall again, harder this time. He brought his fist to his mouth to bite down on the backs of his knuckles, but it didn’t stop him from cursing, moaning loudly for an audience of (hopefully) one. Babe made obscene, encouraging noises, dug blunted fingernails into the fabric of Bill’s pressed dress uniform, dragged them down his thigh. 

He wanted this. More than anything. He let Bill know, too, lips wet, tongue hot, taking more, more, more, until the tip of his nose touched the hand he held the base of Bill’s cock with. 

“Sweet mother of Jesus, holy shit, fucking god…fucking damn…” Bill could see all sorts of colours in that dark room, now, didn’t even mind the lingering scent of pot and dust that permeated its space. His fingers curled into a fist just above Babe’s head so that he wouldn’t yank at the poor guy’s scalp again. He tried warning him, but Babe got his wish. Even zipped Bill up for him.

Standard South Philly practice was to get up and leave, let the other guy recover so he could go, too. Bill could see the hesitance, the reluctance, but Babe stood carefully. Unlike when they went in, there wasn’t any excitement in Babe’s demeanour.

Bill managed to make a grab for his arm, hand squeezing gently around his elbow. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, uh, nothin’.” Babe flashed a smile, and damn, those brown eyes were gonna make him a sucker every time. “Nothin’, it’s just the way you talked.”

“I asked you if I hurt you.” Bill wasn’t sure if it was a question or not, just that he was both utterly taken with him and terribly worried. He remembered his hand on Babe’s arm and pulled him back carefully. Even if he did ask, he wouldn’t drag the truth out of him. Not today, anyway. He could see where the secrets were in Babe Heffron’s eyes, even if he didn’t know what they were yet. “Hey, you don’t have to run off.”

Another smile. “I don’t?”

Bill shook his head and fixed Babe’s tie for him. “Nah, nah. We should get the hell out of this dump though, huh?”

The kid really shouldn’t look so surprised and giggly just to have someone be decent to him.

“Yeah! Yeah, we can go…where’s good?” Babe stuck close to Bill’s side, and Bill decided he liked him there.

“Hey, Babe?” Bill winked at him when he looked over. “Do me a favour, don’t go asking nobody about Tarhead Johnny no more.” 

A bit of rosiness crept into Babe’s cheeks, but he was still grinning. “I guess I don’t need to.”

“No, no you do not. Now, have you ever heard of a place called Lulu’s?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All my fanfiction (a lot of which isn't on ao3) can be found at warmommy.tumblr.com/fanfiction


End file.
